The Pomegranate
by Krirobe
Summary: Hermione gets trapped in the past. When she informs Dumbledore, he protects her and the future by locking her away from mankind inside a painting. MWPP era; SSHG; Revised; DH non-compliant; Warning: implicit rape, but not b/w main characters
1. A Botched Adventure

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Harry Potter_. Rowling does.

**Krirobe: **Enjoy!

**Chapter One**: "A Botched Adventure"- Interlude in Book 6

Straightening the collar of my black robes with the Hogwarts crest colored crimson and gold stamped on the breast, I briefly surveyed my appearance at the vanity table in front of my four-poster bed. Other things today, though, were more important that morning than my usual sighing disappointment over my frizzy hair and dull brown eyes (I sighed anyway out of habit). Other things like the pilfering I had planned for that day.

Nervous excitement boiled in my stomach, which made me keep asking myself whether or not I needed to use the toilet. It would be very terrible for my bladder to complain while I was on an adventure by myself. Terrible enough that I did try to "unload" multiple times that morning without success. Of course, I would never say anything of that nature to anyone even if it is natural enough. It's very bad to talk about in any kind of company, after all.

I waved goodbye to Lavender and Parvati who were loudly twittering and crowding around one vanity table. I knew they never really saw or minded when I left, but I did it anyway (also out of habit).

I slung my books over my shoulder and hoped that the boys would not be up this early to meet me in the Great Hall so that I could rehearse my plan in my mind without being interrupted by banal Quidditch talk. As expected, they weren't there. Why I even worried, I have no idea.

I was one of the first to arrive and settle down for breakfast, which suited me perfectly. I saw a few of my second-year housemates and made a point to sit as far away from them as possible. That day, it was not only because I am an anti-social bookworm who seeks quiet refuge for my compulsive study habits—which I will only ever admit to myself—but it was also because I had a secret, which is a thing that I often do not get to have.

So, taking a seat at the opposite end of the table from my clustered second-year house-mates, I spread raspberry marmalade on a piece of toast, plopped it down onto my plate, and forgot its existence for the next ten minutes in favor of the mystery that was presently burning a rather large hole in my pocket.

This mystery had everything to do with a piece of paper Ron accidentally found in the library last year in the art section. I will never know what he was doing there. He gave it to me sometime last year, expecting me to resolve his piqued curiosity about the list of ingredients on it by staying up days and nights researching while he and Harry played Wizard's Chess. I felt a bit used, but he knows that I enjoy it when anyone recognizes my superior intelligence. He scratches my back, I scratch his, never mind that I scratch for days and days…

So, I end up with baggy eyes, an addiction to highly caffeinated tea, and some answers a month later, and Ron and Harry have, of course, forgotten all about the Pomegranate. That's my pet name for this piece of paper. You would name a piece of paper, too, if you were lost within its arcane mysteries for weeks on end, too. Anyway, the mystery which had enraptured Ron and Harry for about three days until it evaporated like liquid Nitrogen exposed to room temperature became my obsession.

I was resolved to wait to examine for about the thousandth time the Pomegranate. Very resolved. The seconds passed. I glanced around the room. Immature second-years and a few Hufflepuffs and Slytherins peopled the room. I looked up the room at the professors. Professor Snape looked positively livid and Professor Flitwick positively short. Nothing out of the ordinary was happening. No one would even notice if I discreetly (adoringly, ardently, lovingly), momentarily peeked at a very un-extraordinary piece of raggedy paper (I apologize most profusely, Masterpiece beyond the Bounds of Fantasy, my other pet name for it). And if the Hufflepuffs noticed… well, I can easily threaten their... friends' lives. The second-years are too dense to imagine anything. Ditto for the Slytherins.

With this reasoning, I whipped the Pomegranate out and plastered it to my face, a picture of a pomegranate (I am not totally illogical, pretty much the opposite) facing the multitudes gathered for breakfast. Ok, I admit I misestimated the number of people in the room. But you would be blind to a hundred people if the most brilliant thing you ever came across was sitting in your pocket, too.

Knowing I was on the brink of discovery after a year of paper-cuts and puzzling, I mouthed as I read the spidery hand-writing. It read:

_Set table with incense, preferably Lignum Aloes_

_9 drops of honey from Borage_

_Allum_

_9 leaves of the Buxus Suffruticosa_

_5 grams of evenly shredded Vervain_

_2 milliliters of liquefied Angelica_

_Touchstone (for frame)_

_If gold, use Quicksilver and Brimst._

_Brokenfeld-"Stone found in the eagle's nest was recommended by the Akhaians in the extraction." How to implement stone?_

I know, absolutely, mind-bogglingly brilliant!

Unable to tear my eyes away, even after reading through the memorized words twice, I started to whisper to myself, forcing the words through my trembling. "I should have realized before two months ago that this potion required a more sophisticated procedure than mere stirring as the lack of instructions implied. Now, I've ended up wasting all my galleons on Angelica!"

You see, earlier in the year, I had searched Professor Slughorn's closet for Angelica, but his supply was almost gone and not nearly enough for the experiment. Then, I realized two weeks ago, I would need to venture into Professor Snape's personal storeroom that was no longer conveniently adjoined to his classroom (why did he have to achieve his Lifetime-worthy dream of becoming DADA professor this year?), but was located somewhere in the far recesses of the dungeons.

I nervously gulped down some hot pumpkin cider. As I neatly put the Pomegranate back in its hiding place, I saw Professor Snape agitatedly stroll (disregard the oxymoron, it somehow accurately describes something no one else but the professor can do) out of the Great Hall, looking strangely blanched in the face. I was reminded that I was about to trespass his domain in an hour.

Panic grasped my lungs for a moment before I forced myself to calm down. Taking a deep breath, I reasoned that I had procured the Marauders' Map beforehand with Harry's permission and had thoroughly gone over my scheme a thousand times. I coerced the corners of my lips to turn upwards into a cat-got-the-cream smile. However, I still had to suppress a wayward shiver at the thought of another exploration of the dungeons—the dank, dark, depressing, dangerous, decrepit dungeons—and being caught by the resident bat.

Determined to get some food in my stomach despite the nausea at the idea of getting caught, I stuffed the Pomegranate away and bit into my toast. A wave of female titters heralded Harry and Ron's arrival a few gulps of pumpkin cider later. They mysteriously got popular this year, which was another thing to explore on my "List of Things that Puzzle Me" after I figured out the Pomegranate.

Harry dropped the disguised Half-Blood Prince's Potions textbook onto the table across from me. I looked at it disdainfully as Ron shoved some fruit into his mouth and expectorated a hearty good morning at me.

I said waspishly, "Why are you still lugging that malicious thing around, especially after what happened with Malfoy? You should have just turned it in to Professor Snape. Maybe then you would be able to participate in the match." And, I confess, I would again be number one, top of the heap, queen of academia as is my rightful place if he discarded that really smart thing. Just for the record, my aversion to the book has nothing to do with my problem handling someone being better than I am. Not one bit.

Harry stared at me incredulously. "What? I'd probably be hauled to the front of the Great Hall and be horsewhipped with all of Hogwarts watching on. And then where would I be in Potions? And you know they'd still not let me play. Can we not argue over the Half-Blood Prince right now?"

"He's right, Hermione. Just let it go. For the morning, at least," pleaded Ron.

I grumbled into submission. I would get absolutely nowhere with them about work ethic and honesty.

Polishing off my toast, I conversed with the boys for the rest of the morning, forgetting about the Half-Blood Prince and how he (or she) could have helped me with the theory involved behind the potion and my own bitterness over the probable ease with which it would have come to him (or her).

Instead, I watched Ron console Harry, and Ron laugh at Dean's joke, and Ron slobber Pumpkin Juice down his shirt, and Ron flinch at Lavender's entrance, and Ron crinkle his brow over the Transfiguration assignment due today, and Ron intone 'Hermione' in that froggy-morning voice of his. I sighed.

"... do you think, Hermione?" Ron looked at me expectantly from across the table. Um, I think you say my name like an absolute dreamboat. Nope, I will definitely never admit that either.

I bluffed righteously, "You've known since third year what I've thought about that, Ron." I added an eye-roll for effect, too. I am convinced that I would be an amazing actress if I was at all concerned over my looks.

Ron looked at me blankly. "How? It's only just happened." He just has no appreciation for the arts. If he did, he would have been convinced without needlessly arguing with me. Boys.

I cringed as I felt Harry's knowing smile, and I quickly said, "Similar circumstances, of course."

After a moment of thought, Ron nodded with supreme understanding. He replied, "Oh, I see."

I knew I could act. If only Harry believed that tidbit, too.

88

Flinching at the loud pounding of my heart and the echo of my footsteps on the cold stone floor of the dungeons, I felt the sweat bead on the back of my neck and trickle beneath my constricting collar down my tense spine. Despite the knowledge that Professor Snape was busy teaching fifth year Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, information that I had taken pains to pull out of Ginny, I couldn't help jumping at every suspicious shadow lurking down the long, winding corridor. The poor lighting did not improve matters.

After what seemed an eternity, but was probably only ten minutes, I reached the entrance to Professor Snape's stores, which happened to be a painting of a woebegone woman under a cypress tree. Brushing aside the painting's entreaties for the husband she lost to the upper floor hussy painted in the Victorian era ("what a stodgy period! Look at her! She's covered from her double chins to her thick ankles in layers of unbecoming lace! What Orpheus sees in a social whore like her, especially when he has me, a toga-wearing goddess…"), I whispered, "The Sands of Time."

I didn't realize I was holding my breath until I let it out when the wife of Orpheus shot me a nasty look and swung the portal open. Fortunately, the Marauder's Map gave passwords to teachers' private rooms, too.

"I can't begin to imagine the atrocities and crimes the Marauders committed against teachers in their day with this information. They must have been practically criminal!" I grimaced at the idea. I then nonchalantly proceeded to invade and pick my way through my professor's private sanctum, searching his collection of ingredients he had painstakingly gathered over a period of what must have been years.

The closet wasn't as large as, say, the Gryffindor common room, but it did seem to be about the size of my old bedroom at home with my parents. In any case, this job wasn't going to be quick, but it was going to be possible to find Angelica within an hour if I worked hard, which I was very good at doing like everything else under the sun. Divination is in the stars, not under the sun, and its existence is questionable so don't even start with me.

My heart stopped racing as my mind preoccupied itself. Stuffing the Marauders' Map in my pocket, I set to work.

At times in between my intent hunt for Angelica, I would notice the few knick knacks other than ingredients that were stored in here. Behind some jars which contained some sort of intestine, there was a picture of who I assumed was Snape's mother. I observed the woman for a little, and then put her down. I sympathized with her unibrow issue. Her aspirations for actor-hood must have been shot down just as my own were.

When I stumbled upon some more of those montages to the dark arts which were hanging in Professor Snape's classroom, I nearly shrieked. Hurriedly, I turned them away from my line of sight before my upchuck reflex became insurmountable. I also discovered a box of a paltry amount of letters written to Snape by someone whose initials were RAB with a few by Dumbledore interspersed throughout. I wouldn't allow myself to summon up a proper amount of intrusiveness to pry into Snape's personal correspondence, so I let them be, getting on with my search for Angelica. If only I knew his system, this would be so much easier.

"Here it is," I exclaimed after a little over an hour of searching. Smiling with success, I extracted a pouch from my robes and pinched some Angelica into it. As I was turning to leave, a glint of something behind the Angelica caught my eye. Puzzling over how anything could shine in this consuming darkness, I turned back around to investigate.

Behind the jar of Angelica there was a solid piece of rectangular gold that extended above and below the shelf. I couldn't see the ends of it, I assumed, because other shelves were blocking it. I squinted at it, examining the engraving on it of an elegant bird with its wings spread in flight. I stretched out my fingers to rub the multiple layers of dust off.

I jumped, hastily pulling my fingers back from the curiosity, when I heard a dark voice behind me.

"Have I taken a wrong turn, _Miss_. Granger, in the corridors that have been my home for over a decade," spoke a tall shadow near the entrance, "or have I found a student, _Miss_. Granger, sniffing around in my private rooms? Please, _Miss_. Granger, I am at a loss. Your supreme intelligence should be capable of informing me as to which is the correct answer." Professor Snape lingered on the edge of the shadows.

Without giving me any time whatsoever to form an answer between my quivering lips, the Head of Slytherin ploughed unfairly on while idly dangling his wand between his thumb and middle finger. "Miss. Granger, as you have failed to give me an answer of your know-it-all caliber, fifty points from Gryffindor. I have yet to hear an answer. Another fifty. Your housemates must be clamoring upstairs. One hundred points have just whizzed down the tube. Seems like Slytherin will be in the lead. I am sincerely grateful to you, Miss. Granger, for your signature Gryffindor arrogance and foolhardiness, your disrespect for authority, and your stupidity." Professor Snape almost growled the last word, sneering down his long, crooked nose at me. I started trembling in fear long before he finished his speech. That wand hanging from his fingertips was very ominous for me indeed.

His voice lost its silky quality as he railed. "Now I demand to know what you are doing in my personal things, things which have nothing to do with my students, especially with juvenile delinquents!"

I cringed, unable to speak in the face of his passionate anger, much less admit to any wrongdoing. The professor had turned into a monster. It just was not safe to say I was in the wrong.

The man opposite me made a show of deadening his rage. He quietly snarled from the shadows, "Come closer, Miss. Granger. Closer." I could do nothing but obey, his fury pummeling any attempt at audacity. I shuffled forward. I was so scared, but also strangely captivated.

He leaned down surprising me when I was less than a meter away. His lank, black hair brushed my wet cheek. Enunciating every word, he hissed, "Did you want to steal from me? Did you think I wouldn't notice your filth marring my personal space? Or, Miss. Granger, did you want to know my secrets, just like your friend Potter?"

While vainly trying to push the truth of my visit out of my mind, I absentmindedly noted that he breathed heavily. His overwhelming presence and his reputed skill in occlumency blocked my meager abilities in dissembling, though. Honesty was, really, the most inconvenient virtue, I meditated laughingly, almost forgetting the situation at hand.

He straightened quickly and stared at me in bewilderment. His hands went to pat his robes down his sides, almost self-consciously it seemed. I wondered at his odd behavior for a second before he glared at me again. Oh right. He is angry and scary. My feelings abruptly changed back to fear. I could tell Professor Snape was back to sadistically relishing my fear after that very disconcertingly strange moment.

Getting weary of waiting for an answer while I was absorbed in my thoughts, Snape said, "Would you prefer it if I invaded your mind and sought the answer for myself or if you volunteered the information of your own free will?"

I quickly mumbled, "I needed some ingredients, sir."

"So you thought it would be alright to steal? We will discuss this with your Head of House. She will be so disappointed in her star pupil, wouldn't you say, Miss Granger?" He beckoned me forward, out into the corridors. I followed him.

"Two of her prize students, two of the Golden Trio, defeated by their impulsive greed and envy. Such a tragedy. I can't say I expected much from either of you, but it is such a shame. The headmaster will, of course, be involved. Expulsion is a likely avenue of punishment we may have to take unless Professor Dumbledore lets his favoritism rule over him again, which I very much doubt," mused Snape from ahead of me.

I felt stricken. The idea of expulsion was terrifying. School was my life. I cried, "Sir, please, I'll do anything. Please don't tell Professor McGonagall. I just needed to know something. It was just an experiment. I promise to clean cauldrons by hand for the rest of the year. I promise to write however many essays you want me to write. Please." My voice cracked in despair. Just as I began to plan on how I was going to be top of the school I would be transferring to (if any school would accept me, that is), Professor Snape surprised me.

Professor Snape spun on me. "Anything? Are you sure about that, Miss Granger?" Hot coal black eyes bored into mine. "Fine, this will be our secret. You will serve detention from now until next Saturday at seven sharp every night in my classroom. That will be your punishment."

My smile of relief disappeared at his next statement.

"But that will not be all I require from you. When the time comes, I will ask you for a favor, and you won't be able to refuse. Agreed?"

Without hesitation, I nodded my head. I would do anything to stay at Hogwarts.

"Good. Until tonight."

Professor Snape strode away, back into the dungeons. I did not at all mind that he didn't return my hearty farewell. After all, I just got out of a potentially nasty scrape, and he apparently forgot to confiscate the Angelica. I felt torn between feeling fortunate and feeling nauseatingly out of Professor Snape's good opinion, not that I ever was in it. Well, I will just have to be even more perfect from now on. Of course, perfection never worked on him.

Maybe I could get the secret password to his room, find his pensieve, and destroy any record of this incident... Or maybe I should just ask the Headmaster if I could convince the Sorting Hat to place me in Slytherin. That would go over much better.

_end of chapter one_

**A/N: This is a revised version. Thank you to everyone who reviewed the old version. And thanks for reading! This is my first time writing somewhat humorous fiction in the first person, and I would love to get some feedback. I also just finished reading a lot of first-person fics, and you can probably tell I've been influenced by them (hopefully for the better). Anyway... Please be true and review! (I definitely had too much Blockbuster when I was young)**


	2. An Exchange

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait. Thanks for the reviews!**

**Chapter Three:** "An Exchange"- Interlude in Year Six

Since Professor Snape was teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts now, his classroom was located in a less dreary, more homey corridor on one of the upper levels with floor to ceiling windows at each end of the corridor and not a cobweb in sight. However pleasant these atmospheric touches were, they did not mislead me into thinking this detention would involve warm crumpets and a spot or two of tea. I was still going to be in the dungeon bat's company… in a tiny office… alone… for detention… with the dungeon bat…. Not for one second did I believe "dungeon bat" was a misnomer, even if he did no longer reside below sea level.

I braced myself before knocking on the door to his office beside his classroom.

I entered at his curt bidding and walked a short distance to stand before his desk. As I silently waited for him to look up from his engrossed position bent over maps and scrolls upon scrolls of his notes written in his own cramped hand, I took in my surroundings once again. The cozy corridor seemed like a hazy dream, nothing that could possibly exist so near, let alone right outside, this dark space.

Professor Snape's penchant for melodramatic black and cold stone was starkly represented in the cramped room. It seemed as if the professor just apparated his prior room in the dungeons along with himself. I knew it was inconceivable. After all, how many times did I inform anyone within hearing that it just is not possible to apparate on Hogwarts' grounds? But this little, windowless office that most would dismiss without a second thought was enough to shatter my faith in a little book called _Hogwarts, a History_ that I read once or twice or a dozen times. Ok, fine, which I studied religiously!

My brain needed to shut off the disturbing thought that the authority of a book could be violated. I switched to a more agreeable train of thought, like how I would end up serving detention. I had a good idea what one did in detention. I was a member of the notorious Golden Trio, so I was often regaled with Ron and Harry's woeful tales of writing lines in a corner. Writing "I will not sneak into my professors' chambers" a hundred times was no big deal as long as Umbridge wasn't involved. What I dreaded was the humiliation of writing it under a disapproving eye belonging to someone displeased with me.

I concluded that he would most likely assign me some odd job with Filch or Hagrid as punishment after scolding me mercilessly. It was nothing less than I deserved, really, but saying that to myself did nothing to take the sting away. I, Hermione Granger, bookworm and all around nice girl in my opinion, landed detention.

He finally deigned to acknowledge my presence after he scribbled one more word, which seemed to be more important to him than I, on a map of what was unmistakably southern Europe. I chewed on my lip nervously when his narrowed black eyes met mine. His lips curled up in a somewhat poor imitation of a smile. There was too much cruelty behind it for it to be termed a smile. "Ah, Miss. Granger, it's nice to know that at least you have punctuality."

He assessed me for a little after his opening, cutting remark, intently observing my fidgeting. His jibe hurt, and I think it showed.

Once I could no longer look into his penetrating eyes, I slid my gaze off-center and downward to his cluttered desk. This was curious.

There wasn't only a map of southern Europe, but, besides the protractor, there were also detailed maps of islands off of Italy and Greece, topographical maps of the Mediterranean, maps of local places in Bulgaria, maps of places more close to home, like that of Diagon Alley and its dark counterpart Knockturn Alley, the path of the Hogwarts' Express train (which I desperately wished I could get a closer look at), and, the last map I saw before the professor interrupted my perusal, was of the Forbidden Forest.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor. You don't seem to learn. First, I find you snooping in my personal stores, and now I find you openly snooping through the files on my desk."

My eyes raced up those buttons (fifteen in all) again, stopping just short of the eyes. I have to admit, I was a little too afraid to look into them.

"But, sir—"

"The other teachers, Headmaster included, have mistakenly labeled your ungovernable nosiness _bravery_ and a noble pursuit of _knowledge_ and _justice_. It's nauseating how they handle you and your foolhardy friends with kid gloves all the time. This treatment only encourages Potter. He's forgotten that the rules apply to him as well, and, as a result, one of his peers almost died. If not for my intervention… Well, it's obvious to me, if not the rest of the staff, that this behavior can no longer be tolerated, Miss. Granger."

I was confused. I didn't know whether to feel indignant or ashamed. My eyes met his to express the affront and confusion. I knew, without a doubt, that my friends and I only had good intentions, but… good intentions pave the way to hell. Were we possibly making things worse? These times were fragile, after all. Were we being selfish by demanding to have a role, to be able to help? Maybe we would be less bothersome if we waited for the proper authorities to handle matters, no matter how much it went against the grain of my character. I couldn't bear the thoughts that were plaguing my mind. Maybe we should leave all these problems in the hands of people more capable.

A spark lit in my professor's black eyes and his lips curled upwards in pleasure. "Your detentions this week will consist of, as you mentioned before, scrubbing cauldrons by hand. Professor Slughorn will be glad to have the company. He'll talk to you tomorrow about the time. Don't discuss with him why I gave you detention."

I was relieved that I wouldn't have to be in close proximity to Filch. There was only so much ignorant bigotry I can undergo before I crack.

"Now, about our deal. You said anything, correct?"

I nodded. I already regretted this.

Professor Snape instantly became sober. He folded his hands in front of him. His knuckles jutted out sharply. There were no traces of the bitterness or anger that I had seen earlier. "Headmaster Dumbledore is under restraints. Every move he makes is under Scrimgeour's surveillance. I can't ask him for anything without the ministry knowing, especially for timeturners. Do you understand what I am asking of you, Miss. Granger?" He paused. I let his silken voice and all he was telling me sink into my mind.

"I need you to obtain a timeturner for me. Please, be delicate. Don't ask any questions and don't tell anyone. Just get that timeturner and report to detention. All will be taken care of after that. Everything will be handled."

He then dismissed me, returning to his maps and notes. I wondered what it was he was working on so painstakingly. I left, wondering if those maps had something to do with the Order.

_88— The Next Day_

It had been surprisingly easy. I had a spotless record, I used a timeturner responsibly in the past, and I had a huge workload. The only difficult part had been whenever Dumbledore smiled at me. He thought only good of me, and I was betraying his trust. But it was for the Order.

I attended the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. I cheered when Gryffindor won the cup, but I was really only happy because I knew that Harry would have blamed himself if Gryffindor hadn't won. I joined in the festivities held in the common room after the match, and I was overjoyed with only a little jealousy when Harry and Ginny got together. The whole day, though, there had been a dark cloud hanging over my head. Or, maybe, an unbearable and very tangible weight around my neck. I played with the gold chain links that disappeared into my robes.

I excused myself from Ron's side, lying again when I told him that I was merely tired from all the excitement, and made my way down to the Potions classroom to meet with Professor Slughorn and Professor Snape.

I knew I should have left earlier, but everyone was so happy. I didn't want to remember my transgressions; I didn't want Professor Snape to intrude on my time with my friends; so, now I was hurrying down to detention.

I ran down halls and staircases. I didn't want to have to face even more of Professor Snape's anger. I was almost there; just one more staircase and I'd make it on time. I galloped down, but on the last step, Peeves came suddenly out of the wall, screaming like a banshee as the Bloody Baron trod slowly but threateningly after him. I yelped as my foot made a misstep in order to avoid Peeves. I stepped on air.

I started falling, already bracing myself for the impact on the rough stone floor. There was no impact, though.

Well, actually, there was one, but not the one I expected. Instead of meeting rock-hard floor, I met something entirely different. It was hard, definitely, but comforting at the same time. It felt warm, not cold like stone should feel. And it was moving, rhythmically up and down. It was then I realized I was grabbing a person, and it was then that I began to suspect who it was I had grabbed… Or was it, who had grabbed me?

Knowing there was nothing else for it, I looked up into the black center of Professor Snape's eyes.

"Oh," I breathed.

"What are you doing, girl, rushing down staircases? Trying to kill yourself?"

I hastily let go of what would have been lapels had he not been wearing the customary black robes. I said earnestly, "I was trying to be on time, sir."

"You're already ten minutes late. Ten points from Gryffindor for tardiness. Well, now that we've settled that you've lost your only redeeming quality, let's get going." With that, Professor Snape turned away from me and strode ahead into the dungeons.

I rushed to walk behind him. I sensed that he'd balk if I tried to walk beside him. He asked as he walked, "Did you get the timeturner, or have you bungled that mission, too?"

"What other mission was I on, sir?" I had to ask. Was he referring to my mission for angelica? I doubted that he would refer to that incident as a mission, though. The way he said "too" got under my skin, as if we had other missions together, and was thus overly familiar with my failures.

It was annoying how Professor Snape ignored my question. He asked again, "Timeturner, Miss. Granger?"

I answered dutifully, "Yes, Professor Snape. I have the timeturner. I asked Professor Dumbledore for it so that I could—"

"I don't really care how you got it. Give it to me," he demanded. I removed it from around my neck as I struggled to keep up the pace he established. He stopped abruptly once we reached the classroom where my detention was to take place. He held out his palm expectantly. I carefully dropped the golden timeturner into his hands, also careful not to touch him as I did so. Physical contact with him repulsed me after he treated me so rudely. My respect for his intelligence and honor did not decline. It was my respect for his manners. They were horrid.

He left as soon as I gave him the timeturner. I'm not certain, but I think my repulsion showed on my face when I reached out.

_88—Dumbledore's Funeral_

"Ron, it's all my… it's all my fault. I should… I should have known," I sobbed, my face smothered in his robes as I listened to the eulogy.

Ron squeezed me around the shoulders, trying to comfort me. "Hermione, none of us knew," he responded back in a whisper, knowing instinctively who I was talking about.

I could not be easily comforted, though, because I could never tell anyone what I had done. I could never admit that I gave in to blackmail and that a murderer, a practiced Dark Arts user, was loose with a timeturner because of me.

_88_

Harry, Ron, and I had decided on the train back to London (Harry rather reluctantly) that we would meet in Diagon Alley at the end of July after spending some time with our families. Harry needed to go back to the Dursleys so that he would have some protection against Voldemort, and Ron and I needed time to say goodbye (though the Weasleys and the Grangers wouldn't realize it) before we went off on our own hunt for the horcruxes.

An invitation came before the end of the month, though. There was a wedding to be held at Hogwarts on July 16 joining Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour in matrimony

**A/N:** **Sorry for teasing you with her fall! I couldn't resist. Thanks to reviewers and the fan who just reminded me about the story I seriously thought of abandoning forever. The next chapter is already written since this was a story I took down some time ago and then revised. But this is a WIP in a lot of ways, and will therefore take me a bit of time, especially since I'm juggling other stories and a few papers for school. I am also a very frequent victim of writer's block. I will try to overcome all this but no promises. Anyway...****Review and I might consider this more urgent than my Naruto fic, growl. Just kidding! Please review, though. **

**Title of next chapter: "Invasion Of The Centaurs"**


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